


Aegon VI

by StoryReigns96



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/M, Intrigue, Multi, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 05:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryReigns96/pseuds/StoryReigns96
Summary: King's Landing burned. The Mad King slain. Elia Martell raped and murdered. Princess Rhaenys stabbed dozens of times. All men must die, but not everyone on this day – Aegon survived. Taken across the Narrow Sea by Rhaegar's closest friend, the Dornish Arthur Dayne, to be guarded and taught by the order of Faceless assassins in Braavos. All men must serve, even a Targaryen prince.





	Aegon VI

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I chose not to archive warnings for this story, not because none apply, but because the world of ASOIAF should be warning enough.
> 
> Credit: The fantasy novel series 'A Song of Ice and Fire' and the television program 'Game of Thrones' belong to G.R.R Martin and HBO, respectively.
> 
> There will be some Winds of Winter sample chapters spoilers for those of you who have a level of self-control that allows you to actually wait for the book.
> 
> Side note: There will be several theories (in particular the true identities of the characters) touched on and mapped out in this, fair warning; it may not fit the idea in your head but it should be rather interesting, some examples of what I'm talking about are the curious Septa Lemore and Alleras/Sarella. Obviously, FakeAegon is not one of them.

**A Pirate Queen**

It was a cool morning on the Narrow Sea, and for the first time in her life, she was truly happy. These were the thoughts of Aella Adarys as she sat back lazily in her quarters, sipping on a glass of Myrish nectar though tonight she could hardly taste it.

For decades, she had navigated the busiest archipelago in the world, doing what she did best – pirating. She stole from the rich, she stole from the poor, and everyone else unlucky enough to see the sails of her _Weeping Lady_ on the horizon.

It was hard for a woman, even a granddaughter of the Tyrant of Tyrosh, to keep a crew of swashbuckling degenerates in line but she managed it in style. Her men were fanatically loyal, and with their help, she had become one of the richest persons in the Free Cities, and the grandest captain in the Stepstones.

Yet it was not her success, her wealth, or the respect of her peers that had finally made her happy. It was the boy in her bed. Her lover. Men had come and gone over the years, and not one of them had made her feel like this boy did.

Her finest score to date was a Lysene bed slave they'd captured as he was on his way to a pleasure house in Volantis. At first, she'd meant to ransom him or sell him to another brothel keeper, but her men had taken a liking to him as he comported himself well on the ship, running errands and helping the cook without the need to steal from them. And he sang so beautifully that even she, their cold sea-bitch captain, was sad to see him go. Yet because she was captain, she decided he could stay on, and he did.

She made him a cabin boy, and he excelled at it, carrying out all his tasks aboard her _Lady_ promptly and without fail, with an eagerness to please. He could climb the rigging like a lemur and would stay in the forecastle for hours and stare out at the water with her Myrish eye hoping to catch sight of worthwhile prey. Even when the fighting started, he would join the fray from on high, picking men off with a crossbow at his leisure.

Eventually, she had taken him into her chambers so that he might serve in a manner more catering to her desires. In this, he too excelled, likely taught in the whore houses of Lys, and yet these thoughts only infuriated her as she became enraged at the idea that harlots had once held her Goldenboy as she did now.

He was young, so young that it would sicken some. Fools. He was her Goldenboy, and she was his Captain. Let it disgust the unenlightened masses of the Sunset Kingdoms, her crew did not mind, seeing it as just another peculiarity of having a woman in charge, and it stopped them from feeling jealous of any of their fellows. But she did not care, either way, to have him under her wing was more than worth any sacrifice.

She was woman enough to admit it, she was besotted with him. Obsessed. She could scarce think with him in sight and longed for him when he was not. And she was certain he felt the same. The thought something might happen to him filled her with dread, dizzy even.

As of late, she wondered if she was tired of her life at sea. More and more, she felt like it would be nice to settle down somewhere with her Goldenboy, and spend the rest of her days basking in his light. The only thing that stopped her was how he might feel about it, what if he didn't want to leave the sea?

Time would keep moving forward, he would grow older, and soon enough he would be a man. Aella knew that when her Goldenboy became a man, the whole world would want a piece of him, but she wanted him all to her self.

So, here she was, staring at his long golden locks resting atop a pillow on their bed while he slept. Was it enough just to look at him?

She could feel a thousand invisible needles prickle all over, in what must have been her body revolting against the notion she allow him to be taken from her.

When the morning came, she would disembark her _Weeping Lady_ and purchase a great villa in his native Lys, that paradise. There she would never have him leave her sight, they would never have to suffer being apart again.

In the morning, she would do exactly that. For now, she contented herself with watching the subtle twitches of his immaculate face as he dreamt, most likely of her.

She moved to sip her nectar again when the glass fell to the ground and shattered. Confused, she stared at her hand and panicked when she realized she could not move her hand. 'Poison' she thought, terrified at the prospect, yet unable to see the alternative when she could move not a muscle.

"Help me, Goldenboy!" she tried to cry out, but when her plea failed to reach her ears, she knew then that her voice had been stolen away as well. She prayed to the Lord of Light that her everything might wake and come to her aid.

Her prayers were answered, when he rolled out of bed, stretched his perfect, tiny arms and looked at her, and cocked his head and gave her a curious stare. This did not upset her, as she must have been a queer sight, frozen like a statue above a broken glass.

He moved next to her and grabbed the bottle of nectar so to pour it out onto the floor. 'He must think me drunk' Aella decided, it was not an outrageous conclusion, she had often drank herself to a stupor their first nights together and he had told her he did not mind, she wanted to have her wits about her when taking him.

But she was startled when he did not turn back to her after emptying the bottle, he instead made his way to her lock-box, opened it, and deposited the contents into his pockets. Aella knew he was not stealing from her, he loved her. He must be thinking that it would wiser to keep such valuable away from her while in a drunken state.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she began to struggle to breathe as she desperately tried to get his attention.

Finally, he came back to her, and she rejoiced at the sight of his glittering eyes. He took her face in his hands, though he did not kiss her as she expected, instead he tilted her head back and stared into her eyes.

"Puff fish poison," Goldenboy spoke, and her heart stopped, "a strange creature from the Summer Islands, that bloats to many times its usual size when threatened. People who eat it carelessly, lose control of their muscles and die within the day. I extracted the poison from a number of these fish, and thickened it myself... you won't last much longer now."

Aella was devastated. 'Why?' she tried to scream, 'Why would you kill me, my love?'

But she could not scream, no more than she could move. 'Was it because I took your innocence from you?' she wondered, 'Had it all just been a ploy by him to escape who he considered his captor.' She could not ask him, only stare into his eyes and try her best to show him that she truly loved him and that there was nothing that could change that.

"Valar morghulis." the words came from Goldenboy's mouth, just as she watched in horror as his face began to melt away in a shimmering glow, his chin sharpened, his nose grew longer, his cheeks lowered. His hair became shorter and many of its golden strands turned to silver His eyes turned from gold into amethysts in some dark alchemy. This was not her Goldenboy, this was a Faceless Man.

He dropped a candle onto the floor, and watched it ignite the nectar. It would soon grow and consume her ship, burning her.

"Don't worry," her deceiver said, "You'll be dead before the fire reaches you." with that he opened a window, and jumped out of her cabin and into the sea.

She did not care if it would be the poison or the fire that claimed her corpse. He had killed her already when he left with her Goldenboy.

Aella Adarys' last thoughts were of that gorgeous child, and how she wanted nothing else besides to see his face again.

* * *

**No One**

The child formerly known as 'Goldenboy' dove into the harbour of Lys under cover of darkness, and quickly enough found a ship headed for Braavos, if the men speaking the bastard dialect of High Valyrian could be relied upon.

It was easy enough to stow away aboard, many of the watchmen on the deck were preoccupied with the burning ship not far from their own.

He wrapped his small body with straw, and faded back into the sleep that had been interrupted only a few moments ago by his latest sacrifice to the Many-Faced God.

* * *

As sleep took him and he faded into the hellish nightmares of his dreams, he was once more haunted by the faces of the bloodied departed as they perished in times long since past.

A star bled out across the night sky, a burning constellation of crimson and vermilion like a dragon's tail stretching out through the glittering canopy of the firmament above the sprawling city below with its three high hills and rusted towers. A sign of what was to come and what had come before.

The man stood tall and silver-haired, staring with eyes of sombre indigo into the raging sea lashing out against the isle of obsidian in surges of unrelenting tides with its salt spray raining down upon the weathered black stone of the ancient fortress. A scion of Old Valyria in the shadow of the smoking peaks of the fiery mountain that dominated this landscape of sulphur and brimstone.

"Aegon," he said to the olive-skinned woman wrapped in silk as she nursed a newborn babe in a bed upholstered in red velvet. "What better name for a king?"

The woman smiled up at him with dark round pools, "Will you make a song for him?" she asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He turned his head when he said it, their eyes met but what was it the man saw? Or whom? Most days, it was a mystery even to himself.

"There must be one more," he said that to me, this he knew for certain, the woman and her babe now forgotten. "The dragon has three heads." He told him, before making his way to the window seat, picking up a harp and running his fingers deftly over its silvery strings. A melancholic melody filled the room as a deep haze enveloped the family like a thick fog, but the tune lingered on in the air, clinging onto him as he faded into the looming mist.

Ghosts shuddered out of the murk in violaceous shades of lilac and lavender, dead men, and children not yet born. The ringing invaded his ears, a mad cacophony of booming bronze and chiming silver that threatened to collapse the world. He need not wonder for whom the bells tolled, for there in sight, a dying prince sank to his knees in the mud red river, the rubies fell from his chest alongside the blood that dripped from his lips. When the last of his breath escaped him, he whispered her name.

The unnatural fog returned to claim him as the grisly scene and deafening sound gave way to a good-natured smile and pleasant singing.

"Lullaby, and goodnight, in the sky bleeding stars burn bright.  
May the moon's, silvery beams, bring you sweet dreams.  
Close your eyes, now and rest, may these hours be blessed.  
Till the sky's bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn.

Lullaby, and goodnight, you are mother's delight.  
I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.

Sweet Prince, close your eyes, for I'm right beside you.  
The Kingsguard are near, so sleep without fear.  
Lullaby, and goodnight, winter roses bedight.  
Dragon's breath o'er head, lay thee down in thy bed.

Lullaby, and goodnight, you are mother's delight.  
I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.

Lullaby, and sleep tight, my darling sweetling.  
On sheets white as cream, with the head full of dreams.  
Sweet Prince, close your eyes, I'm right beside you.  
Lay thee down, now and rest, may your slumber be blessed.

Go to sleep, little one, dream of dragons and direwolves.  
Go to sleep, little one, dream of flowers in spring.  
Hush, darling one, sleep through the night.

Go to sleep, little one, dream of fire and ice..."

As many times as he had heard it before and likely would again, he always hated when it ended, that it had to end. 'Please keep singing, please...' he tried to tell her, but the words left his mouth a gurgling mess.

"Oh, I'm sorry sweetling." she cooed rocking him soothingly to and fro, taking a seat at the foot of the nearby bed, placing him gently in her lap. "Your father would have fared better, always the songbird he was." she spoke with an endearing drawl reminiscent of the river folk of the mighty Rhoyne though her voice trembled with those last words.

She was beautiful... marvellous with her slender figure wrapped in silk and satin, glittering with soft red gold and jewelled belts of topaz and amber on burnished copper yet she struggled to hold that kind smile in vain, those black eyes that hid an innocent wit refused to crinkle the smooth olive skin of her face.

Her hand trembled as she ran her fingers through his hair, strands of gleaming silver falling in front of his eyes, "You're going to look just like him, you already take after him so with your platinum hair, even with these golden streaks! My little golden dragon," she purred as she pulled a few hanks of gilded fibres for him to see and despite his best effort to pay her heed, he giggled all the same. "And those eyes, had I not born you myself one could almost believe the Mother herself plucked you from Valyria and dropped you in my arms. We'll see Ashara go green with envy when next her eyes lay on yours." she chuckled.

The laughter subsided and she grew sad once more, "His spitting image..." with that she could no longer maintain her composure and sobs racked her delicate frame.

Desperate to save her, he reached high with his little, stubby arms to try to wipe the tears glistening down her cheeks, his tiny hands brushed her chin their eyes met and she broke from her stupor, a laugh bubbled out of her again, using her sleeve to wipe away the droplets. "I should not cry. I am of House Nymeros Martell and Dornishmen do not waste water needlessly." she said, resolute.

Brushing the hair out of his face, she graced him with a smile as bright as a summer sun and planted a kiss on his forehead, "Your mother loves you, Aegon." she declared. 'Aegon, that was his name. Why had he forgotten his own name? And she loved him... But where had she gone?'

Standing up, she brought him to his crib and laid him down behind the wooden bars. "Sleep now, my dragon, and sweet dreams. I am going to see your sister settled. Worry not for Arthur stands vigil, so no harm will befall you in my absence." she bids farewell with a gentle sigh.

Retreating past the heavy oak door, he waited for her return clutching to the bars with all his meagre strength, but his resolve faded with his energy, slowly, his eyes betrayed him and began to shutter on their own accord along with his grip. He flopped down into his sheets in a tangle of wee limbs and sleep once more threatened to claim him. But he resisted, he had to see her again, one last time...

An incomparable drowsiness descended upon him, a desire to rest gnawed at him, exhaustion set in like a heavy blanket too great to overcome. Struggling to keep his eyelids apart was all he could do to resist succumbing to the fatigue.

Then came the rustling of footsteps, the creak of iron hinges and the soft whispers of secrets echoing through the stone halls. Deliverance had come along with a second wind.

Through the door they came, his mother now visibly distraught; seeming frail beyond her years in the way she shook. The others were familiar strangers, the first was clad in a suit of enamelled white scales with silver fastenings; a white cloak fluttered behind him kept still on his upper back by the greatsword slung across his back. His dark hair was cropped short to his head, his strong jaw marred with black stubble; his eyes were wearier than sin as they shone an almost purple shade of dark blue. He carried himself proudly yet hesitantly and appeared wholly formidable.

The next was his opposite in stature and bearing, mincing into the room on slippers that masked his entrance; plump and effeminate, bald and powdered. He wore silks of outrageous hues of coral and lime underneath a vest of tiger-skin. There was something about his gait, the look in his eye that told him despite the man's meek outward appearance, that he was the more dangerous of the two.

They were arguing, that he knew. More a contention or disagreement of ideas rather than a quarrel, these things he knew from the pitch of the rasping whispers of their voices and the queering expressions morphing their faces. Such things he had learned in the years to come not yet lived.

His underdeveloped ears could not pick out what they were saying with any degree of consistency, but still, he listened intently, waiting for emotion to raise the pitch of their voices, for whispers to become murmurs. Like beams of light shining through an overcast sky, the words came in a jumbled, unorderly mess, but he managed to discern a few phrases. Every so often one of the men would say "Princess" louder than they should have before being swiftly rebuked by his mother as she turned her head sharply to his cradle, there was talk of "Sunspear or Starfall" and "friends across the Narrow Sea", names such "Doran & Oberyn", "Crown Prince Viserys" made their way to his ears and "Ashara" several times over.

Eventually, they raised their voices and he no longer needed to strain to hear bits and pieces, the man in armour seemed to have had enough and spoke firmly "It is not safe here for the prince, Princess."

"Do you think I believe differently, Ser?" his mother asked fiercely, her previous worry forgotten, "Do you think I believe my son safe with his father dead, his grandfather gone mad and me and mine held here as hostages to ensure my brothers' loyalty?"

The armoured man lowered his head, thoroughly chastised. The man in finery came to his defence, "I am certain, good Ser Knight did not mean to patronize you, fair Princess. He only wishes to impress upon you just how dangerous the circumstances, you and the young prince find yourselves in." he said in a voice full of obsequiousness.

"I know full well the dangers we face," she bit back, "I do not stay here by choice, I will not risk my children's lives by trying to escape the Capital. The heat in the frying pan I can endure, I will not jump into the fire!"

"Sweet Princess, I would not have your children endangered, but I fear that the young prince's life is already in mortal peril," he cautioned as the smell reached his nose, a whiff of lilac perfume that he did not get from his mother earlier, "the king grows more unstable by the day, he suspects House Martell of treason and already believes your noble uncle, Prince Lewyn betrayed him on the Trident. Forgive me, Princess but I am certain it is only a matter of time until His Grace decides your son is a threat to him." such words made all in the room go still.

"He will not have my son!" his mother declared, the sight of her defending made him feel strange.

"I'm afraid, Princess, that if you tarry in your flight from the city, the choice will be taken from you." the man cautioned forebodingly. The warning hung in the air like a sword dangling overhead.

"What difference does it make?" she queried, "Even if I did risk an escape, it would be folly." her shoulders slumped and she back down on her bed, tired. "Aerys has guards posted in every hall inside the Maidenvault I would never make it out of the Red Keep, and even if I could, there is no way I would pass through one of the gates when the city is preparing for a siege." she answered forlornly, "I am damned either way. Even mine own daughter is kept from me." she finished miserably as she stared at the floor beneath her.

"There is another way out of the city, Princess." the perfumed schemer informed her.

Her eyes shot up back at the portly fellow as the knight turned to him with a look of surprise and hope evident on his face. "Tell me what I must do?" she asked.

"Throughout the castle lies a network of tunnels that lead all around the Red Keep, some of these passages even lead out of the city," he explained coyly to the awe of the others present. He walked past them, up to a wardrobe, quickly emptying the contents of the shelves, he gestured to the knight to help him move it, "One of these such passages is in this very room." as he finished, he reached behind the wardrobe and with a clunk, a stone slab began to rise, revealing a downward staircase.

She exclaimed in joy as she jumped to her feet in revelry, "Now all we must do is get Rhaenys and we can be free of this dreadful place." the wide smile across her face was a sight to see, but such things seldom last.

"Alas, Princess," he began consolingly, "Maegor ordered that no such passages be built inside his holdfast, fearing the prospect of someone using it to his detriment." he said, motioning toward the staircase.

The look of relief fell from her face in an instant, replaced with a visage of horror "But... But... Rhaenys is in Maegor's." she finished helplessly.

He only nodded his bald head in confirmation, "Please, Princess, time is of the essence, a ship awaits on the Blackwater to take you and the prince to safety." he urged.

"No, No, No!" she shook her head, "I will not leave Rhaenys." she told them, leaving no room for argument.

"Princess, I beg of you to reconsider. His Grace will not take losing the young prince lightly, he will punish you for this. You must be gone by the time he discovers the truth." he explained. He agreed, he wanted her to come with him. The man in armour looked lost as he stood in place.

She collected herself and tried to remain calm, "Aerys has always despised me and my daughter, when she was born, he refused to hold her because he thought she 'smelled Dornish'," she barked a bitter laugh, but sobered herself quickly, "if he finds out that I have left without his leave, with his grandson in tow; he will punish her..." she finished quietly and left the last words unsaid.

Turing to the knight, she stared him down "Ser Arthur Dayne," she addressed him formally, the man recoiled from her tone and took a knee in acquiescence to her. "Are you sworn to protect members of the royal family?"

By then he had stood on his infantile legs and made himself known, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

"I am, Princess." he answered.

"Do you hereby swear to protect my son, Aegon of House Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone, night and day, with your life if need be until your death?" 'No, no, no, please don't leave me.'

"I do, Princess."

"Do you hereby swear to obey him in all things, to put him all above all others, to serve him loyally and honourably as befits a true knight of the Kingsguard?"

"I do, Princess." 'No, no, no, don't let her send me away.'

"Do you swear to see him trained in the martial arts as his father and his fathers have before him, so that he may one day protect himself?" with each oath issued, her voice wavered more & more.

"I do, Princess." the knight did not hesitate, he spoke the words as easily as drawing breath.

"Do you swear that he will see Dorne some day?" the bald man was running around, gathering essentials, springing a torch from his robes.

"I swear it, Princess." 'No, take her with us!'

"Do you swear you will teach him about his paren-" her voice hitched in her throat, "Will you tell him about Rhaegar & I?"

"I will." the knight knelt still like a gargoyle, as steadfast as stone spouting what he will.

She hiccuped, trying to keep the sob inside her, "Do you promise that he will be loved, that he grows up happy, that he knows Ashara, that he knows Oberyn and Doran, that he will be as a brother to their children?"

"I promise, Elia."

'Elia. His mother's name is Elia.'

On unsteady feet, she moved to his crib, he was screaming at her not to go, not to leave him, even as she picked him up and held him in her arms did he cry out for her to stay with him. "Oh, did we wake you sweetling? I'm sorry." she apologized, rocking him back and forth in her arms as she approached the Kingsguard.

"You'll need to be strong from now on, alright little dragon, I'm going to have to go away for a while and I need you to be strong for me and your sister, okay?" he cried louder and clutched harder but he wasn't strong enough to hold on to her as she passed to him to the knight.

He struggled and raged in his arms, he tried to reach out for her, but she was already too far away, he turned to the man's hands and bit down as hard as he could on the fingers keeping him from her yet between his weak toothless maw and his gloved hands it did little or nothing.

She laughed at this, "Do you see how fierce my little dragon is, Arthur? We've woken him too early and he's ever so protective of his mother."

"Yes, Princess." the knight had frozen in sorrow, he endeavoured to hold him, but still not enough to hurt the babe in his arms.

She ran her fingers through his hair one last time and kissed him on the forehead as he tried to grab onto her hair. "Always remember, Aegon, your mother loves you."

He squirmed as hard he could, but he could not break free of the knight's grip, as the knight stood, his mother Elia gave him one last command "Take care of him, Arthur."

He nodded sharply as he looked down at me, "I will, Elia."

With that, she grabbed the knight by his cheeks, pulled him close and smashed her lips into his. The man near went limp and collapsed, taking him with him before she broke away, he'd grabbed onto her dress with his little hand and tried pulling her closer, but she took his hand in hers and kissed it before she placed it on his chest.

"Thank you, Arthur." she bid the knight farewell.

"Quickly, we must hurry if we are to make it unmolested." the other man urged.

"Thank you as well, Lord Varys." his mother said appreciatively to the strange man who was taking him away.

"It is you who deserves thanks, Princess Elia. It is a terrible sacrifice you make, the realm is in your debt."

"Then I shall trust that you will have them make restitution to my son."

This Varys character lit his torch and made descended down the staircase.

The knight took steps back, as he kept his eyes fixed on her. He finally turned away and made for the passage himself.

She was leaving again, he was about to go and she wouldn't be coming with him. She left him with one last smile as the knight walked down the steps. His cries were echoing against the stones that supported the tunnel, but he still heard her say it, "Your mother loves you, Aegon."

He screamed at her to come back, begged 'Don't leave, mother, please don't leave.' but the words were formless and reverberated through the caverns as mindless screeches.

As the trio was nearing the end of the tunnel that would take them out of the sewers and onto the beach, he was still crying, 'Please, mother, don't leave me again!'

His cries bounced off the surrounding brick and rang back through his head as they approached the end of the line and light could be seen ahead, the ringing in his head boomed, a terrible grinding groan that blotted out the sounds of the sea ahead, the clattering of their feet as they ran toward the exit, even the voice inside his head... aaaaAAAAAARRREEEEoooooooooooooo!

* * *

He woke with a fright, to the mighty roar of the Titan of Braavos. The roar was meant to act as warning for the city's defenders docked at the nearby Arsenal, telling the Braavosi of the ship's entrance into the bustling lagoon, but to him, it served as a wake-up call and a homecoming.

Sitting up in his makeshift bed of straw and kicking off the tarp he had used as a blanket, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and extended his arms out as far as he could, nestled between the crates as he was.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he tried to remember the dream, but in place of memories, all he found was a source dull pain. He could only ever recall the song, 'she sang to me.' It was all he had left, all he ever knew of her.

He got up and stretched his sore limbs in the cramped nook, before making his way to the closest porthole inside the lumbering merchant cog, he noticed that it was well past dusk already, he saw they were pulling alongside the Chequy Port for inspection. Not wanting to be discovered stowing away by customs officers, he ran the width of the trade ship that had been stuffed to capacity, jumping over boxes full of goods and sprinting past cages holding exotic animals who growled and chirped at him as he made his way starboard side. He was still small enough that he was able to squeeze through the porthole and so he did.

Diving in the cool waters of the lagoon under cover of darkness, he hit the surface as quietly as only one as small as he could, it was enough that he did not draw attention from any watchstander on deck or lookout atop the Arsenal.

He held his breath underwater for as long as he was able until he could distance himself enough to surface without drawing suspicion. He'd intended to float into the Canal of Heroes, under the great stone bridges with their thousand eyes and rows upon rows of legendary Sealords watching him in the starlight and moonglow, so he might swim down to the Isle of the Gods, but the current was stronger than usual and carried him farther south than expected and he instead he washed up in among the half-sunken towers and domes of the Drowned Town.

Trudgening himself through the watery corridors of the oldest parts of the port, past the Spotted Cellar where they held eel fights every other week and the Gate, where a crowd had begun to gather outside the pit for tonight's mummery.

Finally, he climbed ashore on a small wharf in the Ragman's Harbour, just next to Pynto's tavern. Trying to dry himself off, he crept into the alley next to the old pirate's joint under the scrutiny of the many cats with their glowing eyes that called it home. Tearing off the soaking rags, he found the chest he had hidden in the alley and changed into the warm wool trousers, leather doublet, and tight oiled linen shoes before grabbing the thin bravo's blade he had left in the chest.

In a nearby puddle, he caught the reflection of the pale skin, silver hair and violet eyes. Concentrating, that too began to change; the hair fell from his head, his pupils retreated inside his head as the eyes went white as milk, any definition of the features on his face disappeared leaving only the haunting image of an infantile god of war.

The cats did not approve of this transition, some fled into the night while other braver tomcats hissed fiercely as their tails shot up. " _Stop."_ he commanded in the liquid tongue of Old Valyria and like that the uppity mousers ceased their display, tucking their tails between their legs, bowed their heads and followed out of the alley with him as he limped out onto the street with the sword resting on his shoulder as he whistled a foreboding tune.

Even as most people scampered away in terror at the sight of him hobbling down the side streets of the canals, past the ladies of the evening on display outside the Cattery who vanished when he came into view, he still felt glad to be home for the first time in many months.

An iron coin might have bought him safe passage back to the city of canals from his latest task, but he would have had to make himself known to the captain and crew, people who always left him disconcerted as they tried to share their names with him yet never bothered to wait for the courtesy to be returned, not that it was easy for No One to introduce himself.

A name had been given and the gift had been given in turn to a Tyroshi pirate the sultry, swaggering swashbuckler had never expected her new Lysene bed slave turned cabin boy of treachery in the least... she had looked quite surprised indeed at the end, shocked at the perceived betrayal. But he had not betrayed Aella Adarys, no more than she had murdered travelling sailors, all men must die and he had played his part adequately.

No One had lingered with her longer than necessary, he would justify it by claiming that unforeseen circumstances had delayed him. In truth, No One had enjoyed playing the sailor, the pirate, and the lover.

The face he had on that ship in Lys had been that of a poor slave who'd fled the pleasure houses with his mother, only for her perish from a pox she'd contracted plying her trade, the boy had come to the pools and had asked for the gift and so his face had been hung with the others in the lower levels.

The face he wore now had no name attached to it or story that any man living could recall, so he had dubbed it 'The Pale Child'. The superstitious denizens of the city, ignorant of his order believed him to be a manifestation of a foreign deity 'Bakkalon' and avoided him like the plague even the soldiers who worshiped his statue inside the House, that at least was understandable for 'Bakkalon' was just another one of death's many names and only the foolish, guilty and melancholic ever sought him out willingly.

There were other faces as well, that he wore regularly. Such as: 'Othello Prestayns', a long lost son of the wealthy banking dynasty. 'The Burned Girl', a little girl with hideous burns that preached outside the Temple of the Lord of Light. 'Goldenboy', a catamite and usual mute of such unworldly beauty that the bordellos and bagnios of Braavos often waged war over. And a dozen more and a dozen after that.

But his favourite was the 'Merling Prince', the rumoured result of a union between the God of the Narrow Sea and the famous courtesan who was never seen without her flock of young maidens known as the Mermaids. As the prince, he led an outfit of street urchins, orphans and pickpockets, all of whom paid him more heed than they would the Sealord.

He wore them all, and he found being each one of them easier than being No One.

He wondered what it might be like to be 'Aegon'.

* * *

As he made his way home, passing underneath the red lanterns that dotted the cobblestone streets, he spotted two bravos barring the way past Nabbo's bridge. It was a familiar sight, bravos often prowled the city at night, swaggering about like peacocks in purples and blues, making inquiries after death.

When he approached, the brunette in burgundy, jumped up and pointed at No One's blade to the other, "Leave the boy alone, Terro. He is a babe late for supper and crippled to boot." the other chortled out in the Bastard Valyrian that was unique to Braavos, he wore a wore a vest of green velvet with a cloth of silver. Both carried swords on their hips.

"Is that true, boy," the one standing asked, who'd been called 'Terro' by his companion, standing several feet taller than him with a cloak of vibrant yellow, "Are you late for your dinner? Is your mother calling you home?"

The bravo stood over him and talked down to him but he did not so much as blink, the night must have obscured his eyes from them as they did take notice.

"Will you whistle me a song, little boy?" this Terro asked in a lazy drawl as he fingered the hilt of his blade.

"Oh, let him pass, Terro. You've scared him silent." the fair-haired one snickered.

Terro did not. When he took a step to the right, Terro followed, when he took a step to the left, so did Terro. The cats that had been trailing behind him, found places along the rails, gutters, and rooftops around them to observe. "Let me have my fun, Orbelo." he answered back.

"Fine, have it your way then." the fair-haired one ceded as he stood as well, chuckling together with his friend.

They both stood over him now, looking down at him with great big smiles, pleased at themselves with their joke. "Now, little boy, who is the most beautiful woman in the world?" Terro asked as his friend preened. He knew their tricks, bravos loved nothing more than to prance around, challenging one another to the death with rhetorical questions for the honour of courtesans and the prestige of their family names. It was a game to them, but he felt no need to shy away from playing.

"Bellonara Otherys." was his reply and right in his mind 'She sings the best, who could be more beautiful?'

The bravos burst into another fit of laughter, before composing themselves as tears of joy streamed down their faces. The dark haired one loomed over him, coughed the phlegm from his voice, and started to speak as he drew his sword.

"Wrong ans-" the words died in his throat for his steel had already sliced clean through his neck to the bone. The blood came gushing out of the open veins, staining his brocade a crimson as he choked on his last words.

"Terro!" the other screamed in anguish as he drew his own blade, backing away from his dying friend.

Orbelo lunged at him with a scream of rage, but he swatted the thrust away and with a slight of his hand a dagger found itself in his hand and soon in the bravo's eye, again and again. As he dropped to the ground, his water dyed his fair-hair a splendid red.

He returned to Terro, lying on the ground gurgling as he clutched at his wound, trying to stop the blood from spilling onto the plank bridge. He'd already gone pale and his eyes were so very afraid.

He placed the tip of his blade above the bravo's heart, "Valar morghulis." and pushed.

The cats meowed as they came forward to claim their prize, eating their fill of the slabs of meat littering the path. He doubted they had ever eaten so richly. Braavos would not miss Orbelo & Terro nor would they mourn two bragging bravos and the cats and gulls flying overhead would soon pick their bones clean as the blood washed into the canal.

He wiped his blade clean on Orbelo's vest and admired the velvet before wrapping it around his shoulders, restarting his tune and continuing down the path. Some of the cats noticed his exit and left with him as he went forth into the night, licking the blood from their maws.

T'was not long till he stood before his home.

* * *

Standing in front of the great wooden doors of weirwood and ebony that guarded entry into the House of Black and White, as it stood on the rocky knoll in the Isle of Gods made of dark, gray stone. He knew in his mind that he was home, but for whatever reason… he did not feel like going inside.

For as long as he could remember, he had called the House home. Brought there as a babe, he had learned to walk and talk and kill under the care of the Faceless Men. But it didn't feel like home tonight.

He knew what he was supposed to do. He was to report his mission's success, make rounds at the pools and rest for a short while before receiving another name. But he didn't want to.

He did not want to see 'Skull' or the 'Little Old Girl', 'No Nose' or 'Smiles', nor did he want to see the 'Fat Man' or the 'Hungry Man' either. He didn't want their congratulations, their advice or their scolding. They always said the same thing. They had become so incredibly wearisome.

No One was supposed to always return to the House for instruction. But he had a name now, 'Aegon'. That had been what his mother called him, he could not recall her name, or much else besides the song, but he had remembered his name this time. Was this 'Aegon' No One?

He didn't want to visit the pools or honour the Many-Faced God inside the holy sanctum. He didn't want to kill another child today.

But most of all, he didn't want to go to sleep in the cells.

So, he didn't.

He turned heel and started walking. He would return in the morning... after some rest.

* * *

As he stood outside the entrance to her establishment, he knew better than to enter as the child god of death, so he changed it again to that which he'd been born with and threw his sword aside. It was easier to wear another's face but it was tiresome nonetheless.

Entering the brothel, he was immediately inundated with the noises common to a pleasure house, the grunts and moans, the fake laughter of the working girls, the real laughter of the working girls and all the sounds that inevitably came from the throes of passion that reverberated back and forth the marble walls.

He looked around the lavishly furnished rooms and found her sitting in an armchair of embossed velvet, surrounded by lustful men pestering her, desperate for her affection. The Black Pearl of Braavos, Bellonara Otherys, she was so lovely that the room was made brighter by her mere presence, she bore the black hair and hazel skin of the Summer Islands, where such a profession was revered as a holy skill and not a shameful practice as it was considered elsewhere.

She was gorgeous and full-breasted but he had not come for that.

He made his way, pushing his way through her ardent suitors to their anger and amusement at having been driven away by a child. He threw the bag of coins he had taken from Adarys at her feet and she smiled up at him, nodding to her young daughter beside her, she did not bend over to collect the coin, leaving the task to another but stood and guided him away from the curses and wails of the dissatisfied men.

He followed her back to her room, waiting at the door as she went to her bed, taking a seat on the pillows before she patted the spot next to her, "Come here, my son." she repeated the words as she had done so many times before and he hastened to her side and quickly snuggled into her bosom, depositing his head in her lap.

It was hard to tell just what made her different but she was by no means the woman of his dreams, she did not have the same olive skin, or her loving smile, nor did she even sound like her. And yet she did actually bear a strange resemblance to him, and he did feel a lingering connection to her despite everything. But all that mattered here was that he found himself desperate for comfort after another bad dream.

She would sing the song, but only because he had paid her to.

'It must be easy work for her,' he thought 'singing to a small boy for thrice her usual fee.' He had heard that it was important that one enjoys their work but he suspected that similar to his occupation, she often grits her teeth and bares it. He had dabbled in her line of work in service to the Many-Face God and could not say he had enjoyed it in the least. But he believed she could at least take some comfort in helping a peculiar boy sleep.

Such was their arrangement, a simple transaction to treat something far more complicated.

She ran her fingers through his hair and hummed for a while before he told her to sing for him and she did. It wasn't the devoted drawl of his mother, but it would do.

He would return to the House of Black & White in the morning, but for now, he wanted to rest… and dream.

"Lullaby, and good night, in the sky bleeding stars burn bright..."

"Your mother loves you." she parroted after the last verse was finished, with that sleep took him and he faded into the hellish nightmares once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you have it. This is probably my favourite piece of writing that I've ever done, so I hope you hate it.
> 
> If you want to tell me what you think, comment! The longer the review the better, it's why I write FF in the first place. I try to respond to every review so go nuts.
> 
> Kudos, bookmark, check religiously. It gives me untold power.
> 
> The next chapter will introduce some of the other key characters in our story and we'll be finding out what they've been up to since the Rebellion.
> 
> I don't want to give the false impression that Aegon is going to become a dedicated assassin, and that's the sole role he'll fill in the story. Aegon was raised by the Faceless Men, and they made him a killer, it still doesn't mean he's sticking around.
> 
> Arthur Dayne is in King's Landing because I don't understand why he wasn't already. Rhaegar leaving his family in the care of Jaime was idiotic and so was having Arthur at the ToJ (as it stands now, I'm sure Martin has a good reason for it). Having the Dornish Arthur Dayne protect them, makes much more sense to me.
> 
> Aegon wasn't remembering when he was separated from his mother nor was he dreaming it. He was experiencing it firsthand, the consciousness of his current self, entered the body of his infant self, in a small way he altered the world around him to the extent that a baby could. This diminished brain capacity and the simple facts of time travel is the reason why Aegon is having problems recalling things about his past.


End file.
